


HIS 




Romance and the West 

and 

Falling Petals 

"By JOHN PRESTON 




Class _T£:i51^ 
Rook 'L17.5"T^7 



Copyright N?. 



xi^ 



COHfRIGHT DEPCSm 



Romance and the West 
Falling Petals 



Romance and the West 



Falling Petals 



By 

JOHN PRESTON L,,.*..^^ 




THE CORNHILL COMPANY 
BOSTON 



f^f. 



Copyright 1918 ' 
By The Cornhill Company 



All rights resiTved 



OCT -9 !9I8 

©GI.A503771 



'V*,*) 



\ 



FALLING PETALS 

(J MEMOIR OF ACADIA) 



FALLING PETALS 

{A MEMOIR OF ACADIA) 

Let scent of lilac bushes 

Surcharge the air around, 
While morn, like maiden, blushes 

That in her face is found 
Such glory; and my dreaming 

Persuade me that I lie 
Where sun of June is beaming 

From an Acadian sky. 
Let morning mists arise. 

As if from Fundy driven. 
Then fail before my eyes, 

Like dreams at dawning riven; 
The odors of the sea. 

Commingling with the pine. 
Come heavily to me. 

O'er flower, grass and vine: 
Perfumes of the breath 

Of Nature where she's fairest — 

[I] 



And where long wandereth 
Dreams of mine the rarest. 

From unrestrained bosoms 
Of robins o'er my head, 
Half hidden in the blossoms 

Which, fail'n, have carpeted 
The grass, comes blithest singing, 
A gladness round me flinging, 
And yet a sadness bringing. 
Which will not be gainsaid. 

My hammock slowly swaying 

Two apple-trees between. 
My vision now is playing 

Upon a patch of green 
This side the wooded valley, 

And now upon the scene 
Immediately around me : 
A spot the Fairies found me, 

A weary mood to rally. 

[2] 



Yet, what a Fairy bringeth 

He hath the power to take ; 
The sweetest fancy wingeth, 
And wishes will forsake: 
The robin in his bower 
Sends down a wilted shower 
Of petals, while he singeth 
And striveth joy to make. 

But not alone for pleasure 
Of this enchantment here 
Have I attained such leisure; 
But that when she appear. 
Whom I have been expecting, 
She find me thus neglecting 
Whatever task may be, 
Since she is honoring me. 

I wait in mood uncertain, 
For well I know her pride; 

But presently the curtain 
Of foliage beside 

[3] 



The gate is gently parted, 
And none too steady-hearted 
I rise and call her name, 
And then regret the same. 

She halts not at the gateway, 
But coldly smiles, and straightway 
Goes round the kitchen walk; 
And then I hear the talk 
And laughter of the hostess, 
Until the side-door closes. 

The thought that I am slighted 
Has put me on my mettle ; 

I watch a falling petal 

Until the same has lighted ; 

I say: " 'Tis sweeter duty 

To study here the beauty 

Of Nature, in reflection. 

Than watch a maiden's action." 

But still, at every sound 

I turn and look around. 

[4] 



Thus, trying to forget her, 
Because she passed me by, 

I think of when I met her, 
And how she was so shy; 

I think of what she told me. 

Bashfully yet boldly. 

And not that she might mold 
me — 

And how I wished to die! 
For it was she who cured me 

Of an illusion deep, 
The first that ever lured me, 

Or caused me, shamed, to weep ; 
A blind and youthful passion, 

Of which I would not tell ; 
One not of love's persuasion^ 

As I should learn from Belle. 

I watch the petals falling 

In merry circles round. 
The while I am recalling 

The meaning and the sound 

[5] 



Of " Belle" — it stands for beauty, 
And I surmise, as well, 

Implies a love of duty, 

In love with which is Belle. 

At last has she been driven 

Beneath the apple-trees. 
And, blushing, is forgiven. 

My melancholy flees. 
Her eyes, a trifle slanting. 

As though of some lost race. 
With naught of brilliance want- 
ing, 

Illumine all her face; 

Yet with a subtle glory, 

Not often sung in story, 

A warm though timid grace. 

I cannot scan each feature 

Of this uncommon creature. 

Describe its separate art, 

As though it stood apart; 

[6] 



I only see the sweetness 
Of all, and the completeness 
Of harmony achieved — 
For so was Belle received. 

We speak about the weather, 
And view the scene together, 
Until she finds me smiling 
At pastime so beguiling. 
She deigns to lay aside 

Her pretty sailor hat. 
And I would pleasure hide, 

Because so pleased, at that. 
r take it as a sign 

That none of affectation — 
So little. Belle, was thine! — 

Shall mar the day's relation. 

And then in graceful stride. 
For none was half so graceful 

As she, do we divide 

The world, at arms or peaceful; 

[7] 



We march upon it bravely — 
Myself, perhaps, o'ergravely 
Denouncing all its ill, 

Prescribing for its woes ; 

And far young vision goes, 
And deep young spirits thrill. 

Life, give back those hours! 
Belle, bring me back those 

powers ! 

1 follow her, delighted. 
My faculties excited: 
But Twenty never knows 
How far such pleasure goes 
Beyond the limitation, 

The sobering years will set, 
Of more mature elation 

Of spirit. . . . Oh, but let 
My vision keep forgetting 

The petals in the air. 
So softly, gently settling 

Upon her golden hair! 



I think, as Twenty thinketh, 

That my companion now, 
To whom my being drinketh 

The draught the gods allow, 
This girl of wond'ring eyes, 
With whom I sail the skies. 
Will be with me forever, 
That Time will steal her never. 
Or, if our ways shall part, 

(I treat the matter lightly) 
Some other kindred heart, 

Some other form as sightly — 
Nay, many such, mayhap, 
Will come to fill the gap! 
Not that I fail to see 

Unusual things aplenty 
In her, but vanity 

Pertains to foolish Twenty. 
The world, the world is wide, 
And life is at the tide! 

In looking back to thee. 
At thought of womankind, 

[9l 



Instruction, a degree 

Of mystery, I find 
In this : That we enjoyed 
Friendship so unalloyed; 
That I so solemn born 
Should have escaped thy scorn — 
Thou who so loved a measure 
Of gay and careless pleasure! 
But stranger still, perhaps, 

That I should have been given 

So much, scarce having striven 
For aught. Only the lapse 
Of time, and intermingling 

With others of thy sex. 
Has set my thoughts to singling 
That young adventure out: 

I see its bright reflex 

When tempted now to doubt 
That clever women e'er 
Are generous ; the fair 
Disposed to rise above 
Self-glory and self-love; 

[lO] 



That such can ever feel 

A stirring of the spirit, 
The sting of an ideal, 

With courage not to fear it. 

Being spirituelle, 

So aptly christened Belle, 

1 cannot now but wonder, 
This fancied shade-tree under, 
If thou art dreamer still! 
Hath Time purloined the will 
To paint thine earth like heaven? 
Art thou, perchance, still given 
To fairy castle-making? 

Or findest thou an aching 
Within thee at the thought 
Of what was — and is not? 
Canst thou, when mem'ry's call- 
ing, 

And loved ghosts come round, 
See wilted petals falling 

And whitening the ground? 

[II] 



Yet, sweet as is thy sadness, 
Thou e'er must envy me: 

For mine is all the gladness. 
Since I remember thee! 

But, like the robin gay. 

Rejoicing in his bower. 
E'en thus I shake away 

The petals from the flower; 
I see them downward sifting 

Among the jagged leaves, 
And as I watch them drifting 

My spirit somewhere grieves. 
I think of how the years, 
These cares and wasted tears, 
Are losing me thy laughter 
And all it followed after — 
Thy wit and joy and smiles. 
Thy pretty girlish wiles. 
So many a little token 
Of friendship, looked or spoken. 
Is shaken from the tree, 

[12] 



Each year, of memory; 
A petal frail is blown, 
And sinks, forever, down! 

Still, friend of old, be sure. 

Some petals e'er shall cling, 
Through rain and wind endure; 

The robin long shall sing 
High in his apple-tree. 
And thou shalt come to me, 
Oft when the dull day closes. 
Like scent of sweet wild-roses. 
Which I have plucked with thee; 
And then it will be morning, 
And life shall we be scorning, 
Our castles building high 
As thine Acadian sky. 

What matter though we find 
Earth-ties to hold and bind? 
'Tis said of highest Heaven: 

[13] 



To none the right is given 
Up there, to bind the spirit — 
And we lived very near it. 

That day so bright, so fair, 
Is gone, I know not where, 
No more than I can tell 
How thou did'st vanish. Belle! 
For years will e'er be going 
Onward, silent flowing 
Far, far beyond our knowing. 
Though we would have them 
stay; 
Life's flowers ever blowing, 
And blown, their petals snow- 
ing— 
What truths, what purpose show- 
ing? 
Who — who shall dare to say? 



[14] 



ROMANCE AND THE WEST 

(A MONTANA BALLAD) 



ROMANCE and the WEST 

{A MONTANA BALLAD) 



Let no man say Romance is dead 

Or e'en that she is sleeping, 
But let him read this tale, instead, 

And then, his counsel keeping, 
Set forth, as men must ever do, 

Upon his great adventure, 
Regardless of the bugaboo 

Of others' smiles or censure! 

'Twas in Montana (this, I think. 
Is how the poets do it), 

And I was hard upon the brink 
(And everybody knew it) 

Of bacherlorhood. A friend had I 
And he was also stranded 

Upon that barren shore where lie 

The hopeless, who have ceased to 
try, 

[17] 



And as they live expect to die. 
Nor ever understand it. 

We had an office, each of us, 

And daily wore white collars, 
Nor was the problem serious, 
With us, of getting dollars. 
We knew no pinch of poverty. 
And prospects did not 
frighten — 
Except the one. Alone were we! 
Though with each other con- 
stantly 
Alone we were! And hourly 
Our heartstrings seemed to 
tighten. 

At first my friend was reticent 
Upon the awful matter, 

And circling round the edge we 
went 
In superficial chatter; 

[i8] 



But then at last a word came out, 
By force of feeling goaded, 

Which put hypocrisy to rout — 
And both of us exploded. 

The confidences we exchanged, 
Had ever they been printed, 
Our patrons might have well es- 
tranged, 
For truth was scarcely stinted ; 
We swore we loved Montana air, 

And everything about it. 
And that its women folks were 

fair. 
That is, such women as there 

were; 
In short, we thought them very 
rare — 
Yes, very. Who shall doubt it? 

"The only girls I've met," said 
Sol, 

[19] 



(Now, Sol had been to college) 
"Whom I could ever love at all, 

Within my certain knowledge, 
Were married — married — dead 
and gone — 

I wonder why — I wonder?" 
We dropped our heads and dwelt 

upon 
This problem. Suddenly the dawn 
Of two ideas, one by one. 

Into my head did blunder. 

'^Sol, Sol," said I, illuminate, 

"I have it, boy, I have it! 
You cannot blame a hostile Fate — 

Just make your affidavit! 
The truth is obviously this : 

The fancied ones you met there 
Received some other fellow's kiss 

Before yourself could get there! 
By Jove, I think I see a fact: 

[20] 



For since we both have met 
them, 
These creatures who can so attract, 

Although we never get them, 
The circumstance that they exist 

Should give us, I declare it, 
A hope to find some one who's 
missed — 
And by young Eros swear it!" 

"Yo, ho!" he laughed, "A jolly 
joke — 
From you especially coming." 
He grinned behind a cloud of 
smoke, 
And sat his fingers drumming. 
This sally, I am free to say, 
Annoyed me not a trifle; 
But I would pay him back some 
day — 
Meanwhile annoyance stifle. 

[21] 



The upshot of my pardner's thrust 

Was that our conversation 
For several days was dry as dust 

And bored vv^as our relation. 
Then, as I sat one night alone, 

In newspapers half buried, 
My eyes, my brain were set upon, 

My heart unduly flurried. 
I read that in an eastern State 

Were thirty thousand women 
Who there could never find a 
mate . . . 

I took it as an omen. 

Forgetting, then, the slight that 
Sol 
Had put upon me lately, 
I went to him excited, all 

Aflame, withal sedately. 
And showed him here in black 
and white 
The thing I had discovered; 

[ 22 ] 



But Sol was in a wretched plight 
Of pessimism, out of sight 
Had sunk in it; and black as night 
The ravens round him hovered. 

"Well, what of that?" he croaked 
at last. 

I swallowed, disconcerted. 
"Come, Sol," I said, "forget the 
past. 

Our lives have been diverted. 
We cannot sit here, lazy toads, 

And wait for our bluebottle. 
Packing round these heavy loads 

That so our spirits throttle. 
If we are men, it seems to me, 

We should resort to action." 
He stared so idiotically 
I trembled for his sanity — 
But suddenly his vanity 

From silence brought reaction. 



•to' 



[23] 



"If such a thing you contemplate, 

My boy," he uttered coldly, 
"As finding me a diff'rent state 

By venturing so boldly 
Upon a chase of goslings wild 

In far-ofif Massachusetts, 
Reflect that I am not a child. 

Your fiction's like de Musset's! 
Why, think of how the town 
would laugh 

If you and I went wiving? 
Besides, the chances are, by half. 

The crazy trip surviving. 
We'd come back less contented 

than 
The chase of visions we began." 

"Knight errant!" I exclaimed. 

"Brave knight! 
What matter that the maiden's 

part 
Compels her, till her hair is white, 

[24] 



To wait, with dully paining 
heart? 
What matter that she cannot speak 

Because the men have spoken, 
Nor go like them a mate to seek — 

Until her youth is broken!" 

"I will admit you argue well," 

'Quoth Sol, with some contri- 
tion, 
"But all one's faculties rebel 

At thought of such a mission. 
It seems to me that we must wait, 

No matter how we feel ; 
And some day, maybe, soon or 
late. 

Will come the one ideal." 

I laughed — I laughed until I 

cried, 
For surely Sol was funny. 
"Yes, doubtless, when we both 

have died — 

[ 25 ] 



Sol, have you any money 
To wager that, in seven years, 

In view of our location, 
A single eligible appears — 

Say, comes here on vacation? 
Computing chances that will be 

By those we know were bootless 
These seven years past — come, 
wager me 

Your hope will not be fruit- 
less?" 

He parried, and he smiled and 
sighed. 
And his position shifted. 
And ''How could such a thing be 
tried, 
By one with reason gifted? 
For, looking at the brightest side, 

And granting Fate's assistance. 
How many futile days might 
glide, 

[26] 



With Her still in the distance? 
What town — what city — how 

and where — 
The business here^ — the people 

there — " 

"Look here," said I, "is not a wife, 

The kind that we are seeking, 
The most important thing in life?" 

(He looked a trifle sneaking.) 
"Sol, I propose to spend a year, 

And all I have if need be; 
And if I fail — the ranchers here 

Won't ever have to feed me. 
But never fear: the price I set 

Upon my blessed being 
Is doubtless quite sufficient; yet 

An equal I am seeing 
In more than one lost little girl 

Whose vision comes to haunt 
me — 
Some atom in the city's swirl, 

[27] 



In need enough to want me! 
This thing of fancying, old boy, 

That one and one girl only 
Can bring the common share of 
joy 

To stray old stags, as lonely 
As we — or any other man, 

Shows ignorance of earth, 
Of woman, since the world began, 

Of such superior worth !'^ 

Sol turned an eagle eye on me: 
"Then marriage is a farce! 

You kill its ideality 

And make a human scarce 

Less guided in his choice of love 

Than cattle that the prairies 
rove." 



"You almost spoke a truth, I 
swear," 
I tantalized old Sol, 

[28] 



"For if we turn to Nature, there 

We find a law for all. 
And who are you and who am I 

That we should be neglecting 
The inner pang, the unhushed cry 

A mate to be selecting? 
And what is there, in heaven's 
name, 

Of this selfsame selection. 
In sitting down, in pride and 
shame 

And impotent dejection?" 

' t that we parted ; later, when 

I started on my journey. 
He came, in better spirits then, 

To say, as my attorney, 
That if I needed his advice 

Upon my quest fantastic. 
Or found I could not pay the price 

Of Someone's whims elastic. 
He hoped that I would not forget 
He loved me like a brother yet! 

[29] 



PART II 



ROMANCE and the WEST 

{A MONTANA BALLAD) 



PART II 



I never shall forget that day 
Upon the Boston Common, 

The beauty, as Bostonians say, 
All 'round about me "swawm- 



in'." 



I stood like some one in a trance, 

Amid the merry whirl. 
Imploring Guardian Circum- 
stance 

To point me out the girl. 
It seemed to me that any one 

Of all the Unescorted 
Would most emphatically have 
done, 

However loosely sorted. 
I wondered how I ever lived 

So long on plains of sand 

[33] 



Where bachelors so seldom wived, 
Since wives were not at hand. 

I thought about my pardner, too, 

Inclined to telegraph; 
But, knowing well what he would 
do, 

Recalling, too, his laugh. 
Decided not to even write, 
But leave him to his foolish fight. 
Perhaps when I should victor be, 

And that would not be long, 
He might receive a word from me, 

In accent clear and strong. 
Descriptive of celibacy: 

But meanwhile, life — the 
throng! 
My first impression lasted through 

An active week, or more; 
The buildings and the streets I 
knew; 

And many a marble door, 

[34] 



Or corner, knew my figure well, 
For there I loved to stand 

And watch the crowds of people 
swell 
Like waves upon the sand. 

Oh, many a face that passed me by 

Did yet in passing cast 
A curious glance that brought a 
sigh 

And made my heart go fast; 
For some were queerly sad, I 
thought, 

As if they wished to find 
A friend above the common lot, 

More constant or more kind; 
As if they knew the world too well 

To quite believe in men. 
They came, they glanced, and in 
the swell 

Of life were lost again. 

[35] 



The weeks moved on, as did the 
throng, 

And I began to see 
That something had gone 
strangely wrong 

Within the heart of me. 
For I could now no longer yearn 

To care for one alone, 
So many seemed to me to turn 

For help ! And, too, was gone 
Concern about myself ; indeed 

It seemed a selfish thing, ^ 

Amid this universal need, 

This silent suffering. 



At times, in thinking now of lives 

Outside my petty own, 
And how a human custom drives 

Man's soul to folly down, 
I wondered why these women here 

Submitted to their lot, 
With silent sigh, suppressed tear, 

[36] 



When what their beings sought 
Existed in a world far less 

Extensive than we think, 
Where there are wells of happi- 
ness 

Whereof we all may drink, 
Or most of us, if but we dare 

To let not vanity, 
The serf of custom, tell us where 

To go, and what to be! 

Yet, might they not be slaves of 
Gold, 

The thought occurred to me. 
As well as custom ; growing old 

That others might be free 
To revel in the joys of youth — 
Devoid of justice as of ruth? 
Perhaps it was the memory 

Of freedom of the prairie 
That brought the bondage home 
to me 

[Z7] 



Of this life sedentary, 
This life of waiting, hidden from 

The very thing desired — 
Expecting, praying it will come. 

Until at last too tired. 

It seemed to me that I must try 

My hand at the invention 
Of some new system ; nay, defy 

The world and its convention ; 
That I must bring the prairies east 

And take the cities west; 
And make man happy as the beast. 

And women quite as blest. 

But when I walked the streets 
again, 
Among the busy masses. 
Among those mighty, heartless 
men, 
And pretty, helpless lasses, 

[38] 



I knew the world would laugh at 
me, 

And cheat me, being stronger; 
And so, discouraged, presently 

I thought of lives no longer, 
But only of my little scheme, 

Of how I might be finding 
The creature of my former dream, 

In streets so wide and winding. 

Accordingly I laid a plan. 

And marshalled all my forces, 
As well becometh any man 

Who hand of Fate coerces. 
I'd make a tour of every store 

Of size, and there were many — 
But Fate threw something in my 
eyes, 

And tossed a magic penny! 

I saw Her run to catch a car, 
But stumble on the curbing; 

[39] 



And I was not so very far 

Away, oh, thought perturbing! 
But that I managed to assist 

A suitcase in preventing 
Collision with the thing she 
missed — 

A block of sound cementing. 
She thanked me hurriedly, her 
eyes 

Into my spirit burning. 
But ere my brain could realize 

That here the point of turning 
In all my life had come at length, 

Another car had taken 
This girl, my heart, my thoughts, 
my strength — 

And I stood there, forsaken! 
,,■ j"ji'?4S5^''%K ■■■■>' ^ ■ ' 
What matter that the city raged 

About me in its passion. 
That every minute here was staged 

A drama, old of fashion 

[40] 



As life itself ; that here were hearts 

As painful in their beating, 
As full of agonies and smarts 

As mine, their pangs repeating? 
I saw no face upon the street, 

I heard no city clamor: 
Upon my palms I saw the sweat, 

Within I heard a hammer. 

So went the days, and then the 
weeks — 
A suitcase — a vacation. 
A lover to his shadow speaks : 

"By her pronunciation, 
I know she was a Boston girl." 
And then would come the flout- 
ing 
Of fears; and hopes; the madden- 
ing swirl 
Of wishes ; and the doubting. 

My appetite forsook me quite, 
I lost in weight and color, 

[41] 



I hated day and dreaded night. 

And life became a dolor. 
Then when the watching palled on 
me, 

The waiting and the hoping, 
I took a cottage by the sea, 

And sat there, lifeless, moping. 
But this was even worse, me- 
thought. 

Than scanning passing faces, 
And so I left my lonely cot 

And sought familiar places; 
The corners and the office doors 

And parks again frequented. 
Like some lost spirit on the moors 

Of life, outcast, demented. 

One day, when, as it seemed to 
me, 

I could not thus forever 
Go on, I wept — wept bitterly, 

My mind upon the river. 

[42] 



But this was well; it made me 
pause, 
And not a little shamed me: 
Should I give up the fight because 
Old Fate had somewhat lamed 
me? 
No, let me wait, and fight, and 
wait. 
Remain and find vocation, 
That if she come, however late. 
She find me at my station! 

Along the streets, encased in ice. 

The wind swept wet and shiv- 
ery; 
I turned into the Post Office 

And passed by "General De- 
livery." 
I had a letter in my hand 

To Sol, the first since summer. 
Requesting him to sell my land 

And books to some newcomer. 

[43] 



But now I halted; might not he 

Have answered that first letter? 
The mail-clerk grinned on hand- 
ing me 

A wire. "This is better." 
And when I saw it was not old 

I felt a child's contrition: 
Perhaps the tales of fairies told 

Were not all superstition! 

"Come home at once," the mes- 
sage ran, 

"If you should get this wire; 
I want you, Billy, for best man — 

Have found my One Desire." 

I laughed — but not from any joy; 

I laughed instead of weeping. 
"Will try to get there, Sol, old 
boy," 

I wired, my courage keeping. 

[44] 



'Twere better; I had thus excuse 
To straighten my affairs; 

And having fully gotten loose 
Would come back — to gray 
hairs! 

And now my pen unsteady falls 
Upon the guileless sheet, 

And life alarms, and love appalls ; 
But yet the task is sw^eet 

He met me at the depot, he 
Who once had looked so glum, 

His face a happy mystery. 

"I knew — I knew you'd come!" 

Perhaps he saw that I had 
changed. 
In fact, I know he saw; 
But naught was dear old Sol es- 
tranged — 
As stable he as Law. 

[45] 



I felt his hand upon my back, 
His blue eyes holding mine: 

''Let's wander down the railway 
track, 
For appetite to dine." 

We walked along, as we had 
strolled 

So often there together, 
And I was full of thoughts of old, 

In this Montana weather. 

Then suddenly he pressed my 
arm, 
And bruised it in the process; 
"Billy," said he, "a new school- 
marm 
Did come to Stolen Hosses, 
And when I went, on business 
bent, 
Of course I had to meet her ; 

[46] 



And by this old prairie scent 

There lives no woman 
sweeter! . . . 
And so for me. But now for you — 

You ought to see" — He halted. 
"Oh, pawdon, Bill; I see, I do, 

Old Boston has you salted!" 

He spoke of business matters then, 
And snow and wheat and 
clover; 

But I was busy wondering when 
The wedding would be over. 

The steps with which I turned 
with him 
Toward a bungalow, 
Where lights were bright and 
hearth was dim, 
A deep and welcome glow. 
Was weary as the step I took 
Back from a vanished car 

[47] 



That morning of the steady look 
From eyes that went so far. 

He left me seated by the hearth, 

The embers to explore, 
And I was rambling o'er the 
earth, 
And eastern cities o'er, 
When someone passed behind my 

chair; 
I felt her presence in the air; 
Before I turned I knew that there 

Was She, the one, the One! 
"I beg your pardon," she began — 
And then — "Why, you — why 

you're the man — 
The day I left to visit Nan — " 

Sol entered, on the run. 
"Say, Helen, where's your sister 
gone? — 

[48] 



Oh, by the way, meet Billy 

Vaughn — 
Down town? — I'll see you two 
anon — " 
With which the tale is done. 



[49] 



•ss# 



